My reality is nonexistent lies
by if-llamas-could-fly
Summary: Border line, Dead inside. I don't mind, Falling to pieces. Count me in, violent. Let's begin, feeding the sickness. A collection of Mental Hospital AU one-shots featuring ... everybody.
1. Every day it stays the same

**A/N So, I normally don't really write AUs, but I'm a bit obsessed with Mental Hospital AUs ever since season seven happened. I have a bazillion ideas, and they're all one-shots. So I figured it would be easier to just compile them all under one story. Voila, this is the result. I'll update when I can. ****_This one_****, is something that happened while I was trying my hand at a drabble... that just took off into something else. Whoops. Enjoy! :) **_~Sammy_

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_**Every day it stays the same**_

Dean tugged on the sleeve of his white t-shirt, pulling the material until it was slightly frayed at the edges. The bed was too hard. The pillow was too clean. The walls were too blank. The green eyes were too lifeless.

Then the door creaked open, and Dean's head whipped up. A tall figure with shaggy hair entered the room, a tray in his hands, a dimpled smile on his face. Dean's jade eyes finally lit up, a spark of happiness flaring.

"_Sammy_. Where were you Sammy? I missed you."

Dean pushed himself off of his bed, and wrapped his arms around Sam, a wide grin on his face. Sam just barely managed to keep the tray up right in his hands. He patted Dean's back softly, used to this lavish display of affection. He gently guided Dean back down onto his bed, and put the tray down in front of him.

"Got you your lunch Dean, it's not so bad today. Grilled cheese and a chicken salad."

Dean laughed. "Don't be stupid Sammy. I'm not eating any rabbit food. I don't even know _how_ you managed to get this tall just living off of plants. Little freak of nature, you are."

Dean bumped his shoulder against Sam's, and Sam's smile was a little less bright than it had been. "Okay then, at least eat the grilled cheese."

"Nah, I'm good Sammy. I'm not hungry. Did you eat yet?"

"No, but I will when you're done."

"You can have my food if you want Sam, I'm not hungry."

A sigh and a large hand running through long brown hair. "Dean, we've been over this. The food I bring here is for _you_, not me. I'll go grab a bite from the cafeteria later."

Dean pursed his lips and leveled a glare at Sam until the younger man's hazel eyes admitted defeat. "Fine. I'll eat your salad. Satisfied?"

Dean watched as Sam picked up a plastic fork and shoveled the salad into his mouth. Dean smirked. "See, I knew you were hungry. I know you better than you know yourself kiddo."

Sam huffed. "Alright, I ate. Your turn now."

Dean didn't move. Sam sighed, and then a sly grin slid across his face. "Are you sure you don't want it? It's got bacon."

Dean lurched forward and grabbed the sandwich, taking a huge bite, and smiling from around a mouthful of bread, meat and cheese. "Well, why didn't you say that _before,_ Sammy? Jeez."

Dean practically inhaled his sandwich and downed half a glass of water before humming contentedly and leaning back against the padded headboard of his bed. Sam picked up the tray with one hand, patting Dean's shoulder with the other. "I've gotta go now Dean, but I'll be back later, okay?"

Dean twitched his hand in a half- wave goodbye. "Take your phone, and call me if you find anything, or if you need me."

Sam faltered, but tossed a shaky smile and Dean and nodded. "Yeah, sure. I'll do that, Dean."

As Sam turned to leave, the door was pushed open again. A black-haired man with bright blue eyes slipped inside, holding onto a clipboard. He looked up and smiled at Sam. "Hello Samuel."

"Good afternoon Dr. Novak."

"How is he?"

"I though he was doing better in the morning, but he's back to calling me 'Sammy' again. He made me eat his salad."

Dean raised his voice in indignation. "You were _hungry,_ Sammy. Besides, I hate salads."

Sam turned back to the dark haired man. "See what I mean?'

Dr. Novak nodded. "Yes, I do. Thank you Samuel."

Sam cast a worried glance at Dean before hurrying out of the room.

Dean's emerald eyes lit up again as Dr. Novak sat down on the chair next to his bed.

"Dean."

"Hey, Cas."

"Where are we today?"

"St. Louis, Missouri."

"Why?"

"Haunted house. We're thinking that it might be a poltergeist. Sam's gone to the library to check the town records. When he gets back, we're gonna go interview the victims. You wanna help?"

A sigh. "I do not think I can."

"Oh come on, Cas. I thought you said that you _wanted_ to be a hunter?"

"Mr. Winchester, please listen carefully to me. You are _not_ in St. Louis. You're in Lebanon, Kansas. More specifically, you are in the Mann Letters State Psychiatric hospital. My name is not Castiel, it is Jimmy Novak. Sam is not your little brother. His name is Samuel Wesson, and he is a volunteer here. You do not 'hunt' monsters. They aren't real. You are _sick_, Dean. You have delusions and hallucinations, and we're trying to fix that. That's why you're here. To get better, not to hunt a poltergeist. Do you understand?"

Dean nodded, comprehension finally dawning upon him, but Dr. Novak still ran a hand over a weary face.

Because every afternoon, he asked Dean the same questions.

Every afternoon, he got the same answers.

Every afternoon, he was Castiel, angel of the Lord.

Every afternoon, Sam was Dean's little brother.

Every afternoon, Dean was a hunter, killing the things that go 'bump in the night'.

Every afternoon, he said the exact same words to Dean, he tried to explain.

Every afternoon, Dean would finally understand.

And then the next afternoon, Sam would walk in with Dean's lunch, and the same words would escape the young man's lips.

"_Sammy_. Where were you Sammy? I missed you."

Every afternoon, the bed was too hard, the pillows too clean, the walls too blank.

Every afternoon, those green eyes were too lifeless.

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**A/N Too much? Too less? Want more? Leave a review! :) **_~Sammy_


	2. Angel blades and shadow-dances

**A/N So... remember how I said I'd update this story when I could? I finally found the time! Well, I was kinda working on a different one-shot for this story, but then this one hit me over the head, so I decided to post it right now. Now, it's not at ****_all_**** a happy story, and it's plenty different to the last chapter, so... beware? Enjoy! :) **_~Sammy_

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_**Angel blades and shadow-dances**_

_Death reaps all demons._

There's a shadow on the wall, and it looks familiar.

It's long and sharp, and it just brushes against that line where the wall meets the ceiling.

(It looks like a sword.)

It's dark and hollow, but it's solid and unwavering.

(Just like the wings they say he doesn't have.)

It's a Thursday shadow.

(It doesn't matter that it's sometimes there on Tuesdays too, because those Tuesdays are just extra Thursdays.)

It's always there, every Thursday.

No matter the hour, no matter the presence or lack of blinding lights, _it was there_.

It was consistent.

Consistent, like that nice nurse (Meg?) who called him Clarence every day; even though he never failed to correct her.

Consistent, like those red and yellow capsules, and those white oval pills, and those orange circles that would land up in front of him every afternoon; that he'd swallow down, even if they didn't really help.

Consistent, like those green eyes that nobody saw, and that leather jacket that nobody felt, and that faint whisper of rock music that nobody heard; that would awaken him every morning.

_Consistent,_ and he likes it.

He likes the regularity.

Likes the way he could count every second, and know exactly what would happen at any point of time.

It's comforting, and he revels in its consistency.

(He doesn't hear Balthazar's raised and broken voice in the hallway. It's not part of the schedule.)

Meg gives him that paper cup of pills, and he swallows them, and those green eyes laugh, but Meg doesn't react. She never does.

(He doesn't see Gabriel slumped over the foot of his bed, sobbing, or Sam, standing in the doorway, tears in his eyes. Because that's not a regularity.)

He does see Meg, and she calls him Clarence, and he corrects her, as always, but her answering smile's shaky. He doesn't know what that means.

It's _Thursday_, he realizes. He's screaming.

Because he's staring at the ceiling, and the shadow's gone.

And there's another shadow, in its place, but it's longer, and it's thin and curved.

(It looks like a scythe.)

He screams, and Balthazar's hands are on his shoulders, and he's saying something that he can't hear.

He screams, and Gabriel's hiding in Sam's arms, and they're crying, but he can't see their tears.

He screams, and Meg's there, and she's saying his name, not Clarence, but his _name_, and he wants to correct her, but he can't.

He screams, and those green eyes are scared, and he hates that fear, but he can't make it go away.

He screams, until he can't scream anymore, and still he's screaming.

It's _gone_. His shadow's _gone_.

Gone.

And he doesn't notice when Meg (still crying silently) pushes a needle into his arm, and his blue eyes slide shut.

And maybe he's fading away, but that's okay, because there are _shadows_.

And he can see _his_ shadow of Thursday, right up there, where the wall meets the ceiling.

It's long and sharp.

It's dark and hollow, but it's solid and unwavering.

And there are other shadows, and they're swirling about, pulling and tugging at him, until he lets it go.

Lets go of Clarence and corrections. Lets go of green eyes and guitar riffs. Lets go of weeping brothers and wishes for a cure. Lets go of everything.

Lets go of everything but the shadows.

And in that moment, in that tiny little room, surrounded by the people he loves, Castiel is an angel.

_Death reaps all angels._

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**A/N Okay... I ****_would've_**** warned you about Character Death, but that would've given away plot stuff, so... I'm sorry, I guess? Did you like it? Did you hate it? Are you majorly confused? Let me know in a review! :) **_~Sammy_


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